


(Im)Perfection

by Soapbubblesoul



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Aristocracy, Art, Character Study, Class Differences, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotions, Hurt/Comfort, Internal Conflict, Lots of incorrectly used big words, M/M, Objectification, Self-Worth Issues, Yixing!centric, dystopian au, plastic surgery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-29
Updated: 2019-05-10
Packaged: 2020-02-09 18:52:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18644056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Soapbubblesoul/pseuds/Soapbubblesoul
Summary: Even when every single part of Yixing gets replaced, Yifan continues to see Yixing asYixing, and in his presence, Yixing can almost believe he is still himself.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [theflyjar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theflyjar/gifts).



> I'm dedicating this fic to Lo because a) I am lowkey looking forward to her hating how ancient Greek and Latin terms and other big words are carelessly mixed together and used incorrectly at times in this fic, and b) because she has been relentlessly encouraging me, and without her I might not be writing Fanxing anymore to this day, so I really want to dedicate a fic to her
> 
> Glossary: 
> 
> Patricians / Plebeians - Terms from the hierarchical system of Ancient Rome, with patricians being the "aristocrats" while plebeians are the common folk
> 
> Galateum - Galatea is a character from the greek myth about Pygmalion, who made a sculpture so pretty he fell in love with it, and the gods granted his wish and made that sculpture (Galatea) come alive. In Latin, "a" is the plural ending for neutral words, so Galateum is (wrongly) used in this AU to be the singular form of Galatea  
> .

The mirror in front of Yixing is old.

Yixing has seen dozens of old mirrors that are nothing short of stunning. They were all perfectly well maintained, their frames a pompous gold adorned with intricate designs and their surface polished until there’s not a speck of dust or a single smear left. The mirror Yixing is looking at, however, couldn’t be further from that. It is old, yes, but the frame long since has been lost. The glass behind the reflective coating has cracked in multiple places, leaving the once perfect rectangle with ragged edges. The reflection is dulled down, as dust and grime accumulated over the years have clouded the mirror.

Yet, Yixing can’t bring himself to properly clean it, nor does he wish to replace it. He knows that if he were to ask, The Artist would be delighted to supply him with a brand new one. However, Yixing cannot bear the idea of having a perfect mirror hung on the wall. He doesn’t think he can bear looking at any more _perfection_ than the one that is staring back at him.

The mirror has not changed since Yixing first saw his reflection in it. Looking at it, Yixing can almost remember who he once was, the imperfect him that has long since stopped existing.

\- 艺术 -

Yixing doesn’t feel any pain when he awakes. He never does, since a face scrunched up in pain will only lead to wrinkles and those are imperfections The Artist does not wish to smooth over again and again. It is easier to prevent them from happening in the first place, so Yixing is kept sedated until most of the healing has taken place, and afterwards he is fed painkillers every few hours for anything from a couple days to a couple weeks, depending on the severity of the procedure.

From the corner of his vision, Yixing sees a white cotton cloth hung over the mirror. It is a temporal remedy, as he will eventually catch sight of his reflection one way or another. But Yifan still insists on doing this, every time Yixing returns from an operation.

Yifan doesn’t ask how Yixing is feeling when he returns later that night, nor does he need to. He is still wearing bandages around his ribcage from his own procedure not too long ago, and the wound has yet to heal fully. So Yifan knows, without asking, that Yixing is not in pain, but that yet another fragment of him was lost to The Artist.

He wordlessly joins Yixing on the bed rather than heading to his own, and draws Yixing onto his chest, mindful not to aggravate the other’s healing arms but seemingly uncaring of his own wound. With a low voice, he starts humming melodies Yixing has never heard before. It’s as natural as breathing to Yixing, to sink into Yifan’s embrace until he feels like he can leave his physical hull behind, until it’s just him and Yifan. Yifan’s hands are stroking up and down Yixing’s back in a soothing manner, and even though Yixing has only just shaken the sedation-induced slumber, he finds himself drifting out off consciousness again.

\- 艺术 -

Yifan has been at Yixing’s side for nearly a decade now. They have kept each other alive, Yixing thinks sometimes as he presses close to Yifan’s body as if that might make the world around them disappear. Yifan is the only reason _Yixing_ still exists, why he hasn’t lost himself yet even when it feels as if every single part of him has gotten replaced.

Through all the changes, even after all the procedures, Yifan sees Yixing for Yixing. He knew him when they were 12 years old, barely hitting puberty, one awkwardly chubby and the other tall and lanky. He knew him when they were 17, ready to start undergoing crafting and Yixing’s eyes shone with hope at the promise of admiration and love he would be showered with. He knows Yixing now, when they’re 23 and there are only very few procedures left until their Artist will be satisfied, and Yixing’s eyes have long since hardened to a desperate sort of determination.

“You will be beautiful,” The Artist always whispers to them before they get put under for the surgery. “You will be perfect.”

The honour, that has been bestowed upon them. To be deemed worthy of becoming a Galateum. Every day, they keep getting reminded of how privileged they are, and Yixing knows it to be the truth. He considers himself blessed, to play a role in the creation of perfection, even if it is a passive one.

Yixing will make their Artist proud. He will make his parents proud, even if they are unaware of the path they sent him on. _He will be perfect_. He wants to be.

He just wishes it didn’t mean he has to stop being himself.

Sometimes he looks in the mirror and detests what he sees because it makes him feel lost. He is aware that letting go of his own appearance is the price he has to pay for perfection. How could he ever recognise himself the closer he gets to becoming a Galateum, when he was riddled with imperfections before The Artist started seeing about him.

Why would he want to hold onto that? He cannot think of one justifiable reason, and yet he seems to be unable to fully rid himself of the discomfort that settles in the pit of his stomach with every new change. It eats at him with the foul teeth of guilt that he‘s not fully appreciating everything he‘s given.

„It‘s natural to feel like this,“ Yifan whispers when they are in the sanctuary of their room, so low that the microphones are not able to pick up on it. „It‘s because we are human.“

Yifan has always been so much firmer in his grasp on humanity than Yixing. He is being crafted into a Galateum just as Yixing is, and yet he doesn‘t seem to see it as mutually exclusive—being human and being Galateum. It‘s something Yixing can never fully agree on with him, but Yifan radiates that belief so firmly, that Yixing still finds himself drawing strength from it.

There is comfort in Yifan‘s presence, especially whenever the turmoil inside Yixing seems all-consuming. Yifan still looks at him exactly the same way he did before Yixing’s jawline was sharpened, his shoulders widened, his nose straightened and the size of his eyes evened out.

And for Yixing, Yifan is Yifan, no matter how much The Artist changes him.

\- 艺术 -

For plebeians, Galatea are creatures from a different origin. They get raised by Artists, who breed them and do nothing but refine the ethereal beauty that Galatea possess from the very beginning either way. They are heavenly beings blessed with heavenly perfect looks, too ethereal to even be mentioned in the same sentence as lowly humans.

It’s a secret, perfectly kept from all plebeians, that they start out just as human as them, and get elevated into Galatea by careful crafting. Only arthouses and the Galatea themselves know, as well as a select few patricians who are very close with the circle of Artists. Plebeian children will be selected through missionaries from the arthouses, whose gaze has been honed through rigorous training to spot potential. The childrens’ parents, desperate, will give them away in exchange for a few coins and the promise of a better future for their offspring, in a faraway land. They are to never see their child again, since once that child comes of age, it will be moved from the Nursery to the Atelier, ready to be crafted into a Galateum by their Artist.

Patricians are said to be closer to Galatea than plebeians, having transcended humanity without having quite managed to leave it fully behind yet. At least, that’s what plebeians are made to believe. In fact, it’s not that far from the truth, though they do not resemble Galatea because they are of a different race than plebeians.

Rather, patricians they can—and will—commission Artists to replicate some of a Galateum’s beauty on their own body. Yet, in order to keep the illusion of the Galatea’s otherworldly origin alive, no patrician may ever reach the full perfection of a Galateum. It leaves them forever damned to be yearning for something they are only ever allowed a taste of.

\- 艺术 -

“They took your dimples,” Yifan says, stunned.

It‘s the first time Yixing has ever seen Yifan lost for words after he returned from a procedure—it‘s also the first time Yifan’s expression shows signs of distress.

After every surgery, Yifan would always be there to comfort Yixing with an unwavering optimism. He would tell Yixing, over and over, that Yixing was still Yixing. Even if he might not be able to recognise himself in the mirror anymore because the person back at him seems entirely foreign, Yifan could always see him. “It doesn’t matter what you look like, you are you, and no procedure will ever change that,” he used to tell Yixing, especially when they were younger.

Yixing can’t help the tears suddenly brimming in his eyes. He wishes to smile, to pretend it‘s not important. At the same time, he wishes to turn around and not let Yifan see his face so that Yifan will not forget the real Yixing. The one that still had dimples.

“I am perfect now,” Yixing says, because he is—this was his last procedure and his perfection is what The Artist accomplished through years and years of crafting.

He says it as much to convince himself as to convince Yifan, but neither of them truly believe it.

“You have always been perfect,” Yifan says, almost as if in protest, and even though the line is unbearably cheesy, a sob escapes Yixing.

He tries to play it off as a laugh, but another sob follows, and then the tears start falling. The next thing he knows, arms have wrapped around his shoulder. Yixing presses his cheek against Yifan’s chest, not caring about the soreness. All he needs at that moment is to be as close to Yifan as possible. He has seen Yifan’s eyes stray to his dimples often enough to know just how Yifan adored them.

Losing them—Yixing can’t help but feel as if he truly has lost the last part of himself.

\- 艺术 -

He is to be sent to the auction house once he is fully healed.

Removing his dimples was a miniscule procedure compared to every other operation Yixing has undertaken in the last few years. It heals all too fast. The very moment the gauze gets taken off to reveal smooth skin, he is taken to The Artist for a final quality check.

The Artist regards him with a smile that speaks equal parts of excitement and pride. Yixing is standing on a small pedestal in the middle of the room as The Artist circles around him. He keeps muttering to himself, about Yixing’s beauty and perfection, how he is exemplary, even for a Galateum. It’s everything a Galateum could ever hope to hear, and Yixing should revel in the praise. But ever since his dimples were taken, he has been unable to fight down the part inside of him that has been violently rebelling against these changes. Of course Yixing receives The Artist‘s seal of approval, so his transportation to the auction house is arranged promptly.

It means goodbye. He will lose Yifan, just like everything else, and even though he knew it was inevitable, he isn‘t any readier to part with Yifan than he was when he first realised this day would be coming eventually. None of the physical pains Yixing has ever felt compare to the ache that seems to tear apart his chest when he stands in front of Yifan, lost for what to say because no words could ever express the anguish churning in his heart.

The chances that they will see each other again are high. Even if they don‘t get purchased by the same Patron, patricians often gather for social events, and of course they will also bring their Galatea as a way to show off their riches to everyone. But that means meeting four times a year, perhaps, when up until now Yifan has always been sleeping in the bed right next to Yixing‘s—or in the same one even, when either of them longed for comfort.

Their goodbye remains subdued, an exchange of pleasantries that might look like forced politeness to an outsider. As soon as Yixing has collected the few belongings he’s allowed to keep—mainly books, as well as his painting brush set and a collection of musical scores for the Erhu—he turns to Yifan, who is still lingering close to his own bed, as if unable to decide what to do with himself.

Yixing is under no delusion regarding the nature of his feelings for Yifan, but they are inconsequential. All of his desires are, for he is a Galateum, and they are free of human emotions. So he doesn‘t voice the sentiment for what could have been the first and simultaneously the last time. Instead, he simply looks at Yifan, and Yifan looks back at him. There‘s sorrow in Yifan‘s gaze, as there is in Yixing‘s, but Yifan doesn‘t speak his true feelings either. It would hurt more to have it out in the open right. At least that‘s what Yixing tries to tell himself.

The only concession he allows himself is to seek comfort in Yifan‘s arms for one last time. Yifan provides it willingly, the way he always does, opening his arms for Yixing to crash against his chest. He feels Yifan‘s warmth, inhales his rich, earthy scent. Yixing wishes, futilely, that he could remain. And almost as if to spite him, a knock resounds from the door that very moment. Their time is up, and Yixing reluctantly extricates himself from Yifan‘s hold.

They share one last look, then Yixing takes a small step back. He wants to say something, anything, but all words get stuck in his throat. He doesn‘t want to say „goodbye“ because he doesn‘t want it to be a goodbye for good, but he also can‘t bring himself to say „see you“ because the hope contained in those words would just hurt more when in fact he does not know for sure whether he will see Yifan again, or how long it will be until he does. In the end, he simply nods at Yifan. Yifan’s eyes flicker down to the small bundle Yixing is holding in his arms, as if he can‘t bear to properly look at Yixing, but then he forces himself to meet Yixing’s gaze. He nods back, and somehow Yixing feels a sense of understanding settle between them.

\- 艺术 -

Yixing is taken from his quarters and placed into a room that’s decked out in thick brocade. If Yixing weren’t so preoccupied with the dull aching of his heart, he might have marvelled at all the lavish. As it is, he can barely bring himself to lift his head when a handful of people enter the room.

“Oh my, you really have outdone yourself this time,” one of them, a woman, says in a soft voice and Yixing can’t help but wonder if it’s because they are worried about startling him.

“I did, didn’t I?” The Artist laughs lightly, full of unconcealed pride. “He is a masterpiece! I can’t wait to show him to everyone. I bet he will fetch the highest price among all my works in the upcoming auction.”

“Really, he is…” the woman moves her hand in the air as if to pluck the words from the air around her. “Marvellous,” she eventually decides, then adds. “Magnificent.”

Another laugh. The Artist loves the praise, Yixing has always known that but the interaction unfolding in front of him makes it more than obvious.

“And you will help with the finishing touches, won’t you?”

“Of course I will! It will be my greatest honour to do so,” the woman exclaims, nodding her head so enthusiastically Yixing fears the ornaments in her hair might clatter to the floor any moment.

They don’t, however, and soon enough she is stepping close enough that Yixing can see how perfectly poreless her skin is, and how her eyes shine an almost unnatural green.

“I will make sure that everyone will be able to see just what perfection you created,” she declares, and when she turns to study Yixing, she adds, “My, you _really_ outdid yourself this time.”

The woman calls forth two of her assistants, who swarm around Yixing with measuring tape and colour samples to compare his skin against, his hair against, his eyes, the colour of his lips, his teeth. Everything gets categorized, and once the choices they make have been sanctioned by the woman, the colour codes get put into a document that has his name as the title.

„You are stunning, Yixing,“ she compliments him once he has been completely measured and swatched. „And I will make sure that on the day of your auction, you will shine brighter than the brightest star.“

It sounds like a reasurance, her voice warm and full of kindness. Yixing isn‘t quite sure what to make of it. Yes, he wishes to be perfect, to exhibit that perfection so as to honour the careful crafting that created him. But the pain of parting is still too fresh for Yixing to enjoy the thought of the fine fabrics that will adorn his body, and the intricate jewellery that goes with it. In his eyes, her words and smile full of promise seem downright mocking, even though Yixing knows that‘s not her intention. She fully believes that she is doing something good for him, that her work has an important purpose. Yixing just can‘t bring himself to see it the same way.

\- 艺术 -

At the auction house, Yixing has his own room, and a big one too. It is all fitted out with luxurious, plush furniture, a bed large enough to sleep five—at least—windows that span almost the entire height of the wall and a full-body mirror framed with intricate golden designs. The shelves lining the room are filled with books, poetry, legends, fairytales, scientific essays, musical scores—and there are at least ten servants he has been assured will be at his call day and night to procure the literature he desires, should Yixing still find any topic missing.

He gets spoiled and pampered, with his every wish being attended to. Yixing is not used to such luxury—he is used to having a narrow bed, in a dorm room with other people, his personal belongings gathered in a trunk that‘s shoved into the crevice next to his bed. What Yixing also isn‘t used to is being alone.

In all the time he can remember, he‘s never been on his own for this long. Sure, there are servants, and the Seamstress‘ assistants drop by every now and then with samples or to double-check measurements. But when Yixing sits on the soft, burgundy chaise lounge that‘s situated next to the window, granting a marvellous view of the extensive gardens, he feels utterly alone. To have a lot of people constantly buzzing around at the edge of his perception is just not the same. There is no one in the room with him, and the vast size of it seems to make that all too jarringly obvious.

Yixing knew that being without Yifan would be hard, he just never anticipated how unaccustomed he is to being alone with his thoughts. He and Yifan wouldn‘t talk all the time, far from it, but Yixing never knew the difference between companionable silence and true silence, and he hates that he does now. In fact, he hates everything, and then promptly feels guilty for it when those thoughts arise. He‘s being fussed over, and all he wants to do is growl at the servants to stop because it makes him feel nothing like himself. He would always do everything for himself at the Atelier, but now even his clothes are laid out for him in the morning, and his hair will be washed by the delicate hands of a maid.

For the first two days, he avoids the huge mirror the best he can. From the third day onward, he forces himself to stand in front of it, and get used to the sight. _This is you now_ , he tries to convince himself. It‘s not only the perfect reflection staring back at him that he‘s talking about, it‘s also the room he stands in. All the brocade and shining wall-panels, the lush carpets and upholstered furniture, the carved decorations. It really is the perfect setting for a perfect being.

It‘s everything that Yixing isn‘t.

Yixing gets haunted by his thoughts, because they are the only thing keeping him occupied. He has too much free time at his hand. There is no waiting for procedures, no healing from them, there is no daily classes.

His only commitment is to attend four hours of lessons on auction procedures. He has been prepared—indoctrinated—at the Atelier about how to behave as a Galateum. Years over years he has studied fine arts and high literature, and been taught all about etiquette. So the only thing left to tell him is how the auction will proceed—which is, in fact, a process so simple Yixing doesn‘t even know how they manage to fill four hours with explanations about it.

The auctioning process stretches over two days. On the first day, he will be taken to the dressing chambers in the early morning, where he will be bathed and clothed and done up with the utmost care and professionalism. He will be draped in the clothes created specifically for him, and the Seamstress herself will be present in case there‘s the need for last minute adjustments. Starting from the afternoon, he will first be shown to the staff and close friends of the auction house, together with all the other Galatea who are set to be auctioned off at the same time as him. It’s meant for bragging, and to allow Artists to solidify their spots in the most prestigious auction houses.

At night, that‘s when the prospective bidders will start piling in. The lead up to the actual bidding process is always accompanied by a soiree, a seemingly noncommittal gathering where business easily mixes with pleasure and vice versa. There will be hors d‘oeuvre, and wine en masse to serve as a social lubricant. Yixing is told of musicians and performers to keep the mood light and the guests entertained. And during it all, his Artist will be at Yixing’s side, showing him off to everyone, sweet-talking his virtues and making prospective clients believe that _Yixing_ is the one piece that has always been missing in their collection. Yixing knows his Artist is famous for being not only proficient at his craft, but also in talking up his work in a way that convinces bidders they can no longer go a single day without acquiring his newest piece—lest they want to risk complete social ruin.

In many ways, it will be an evening like Yixing can expect many more to follow once he has been auctioned off—being exhibited, praised, examined and proffered for other‘s viewing pleasure. It is common for Galatea to be accompanying their Patron at social gathering. In fact, it might be the main purpose of owning them. By parading them around, their Patron can let other to let other patricians know just how much money they have, or else they wouldn’t be able to afford such exquisite Galatea.

The matter of money will only get settled on the second day, however, when Yixing gets put into a display. Like this, bidders can walk by and carefully inspect the Galatea on their own, without being swarmed by the Artists who crafted them. Over the course of the day, offers will be passed to the auctioneer, and the current highest bid gets shown on a small electronic board affixed on the stand of the Galateum‘s display. If the bidder wishes to remain anonymous, they can choose to, but Yixing can‘t imagine any patrician would ever opt for that. Precisely at the end of sunset, once the sun has fully disappeared from the sky, bidding will be closed. And then, the next day, once the transfer of the money has been verified, Yixing will be loaded into a car, dressed in his finest clothes, and sent to his new Patron.

\- 艺术 -

 “Look here, look here! This is Yixing. If I dare say so myself, he is one of my greatest creations. Such a beautiful canvas to work with.”

Yes, Yixing thinks. That’s precisely what he is. A canvas with layer upon layer upon layer of jarring colours slathered on top of each other to hide the bleak, white plainness that is him, the _real_ him. Yixing wishes to lower his head, to hunch his shoulders, to hide the large eyes that aren’t _his,_ the smoothness of his cheek when he smiles, the nose that stands straight and perfect in his face.

But he can’t. He is a piece of art, and his Artist wishes to show him off. So, the only choice he has is to square his shoulders, extend his neck, spread his lips into a pleasant smile and put himself on full display.

And Yixing knows that he is quite the sight to behold. When he had seen himself in the mirror, he had genuinely not recognised himself for a few heartbeats. Surely, the person looking back at him couldn’t be himself. The outfit he has been dressed in are absolutely magnificent. In fact, a week seems way too short to create such a masterpiece—tasteful, soft, flowing, revealing yet still concealing. The clothes show just enough to entice but hide enough to stoke curiosity.

They also fit like a second skin. Yixing never expected that the Seamstress would have comfort in mind as well, rather than just appearance. Perhaps she didn‘t, and it‘s just a lucky side-effect. Yixing doesn‘t know, but he certainly is grateful for how smooth the fabric feels against his skin.

A round of approving murmurs rises around him, and Yixing stretches his smile just the slightest bit further as he bows gently and thanks the patricians around him for every compliment given. There‘s desire in their eyes. The bidding process for him will be a fierce one, that Yixing is sure of. His Artist is all pleasant laughter next to him, but Yixing can tell the calculating intent behind his joyous banter. Perhaps because he knows The Artist so well, or perhaps just because he has a lot of experience with facades.

The entirety of the introductory soiree passes in a rush of music, food and faces—so many that Yixing can‘t even remember who he has and hasn‘t been introduced to. His Artist seems satisfied at the end of the night, however, so Yixing reasons he must have been shown to all the patricians that matter.

His display on the day of the bidding is a glass case with a kline, softened with pillows but with little luxury aside from that. Nothing shall distract the gaze from him, although Yixing feels as if his perfection would draw all attention either way. He is, to his surprise, wearing a different outfit from the previous night. He was sure the Seamstress would only manage one set of such extraordinary garments within the span of a week, but she gave him another set specifically meant for the auction show case. It‘s less extravagant, and yet somehow even more enrapturing. Perhaps it‘s just that Yixing prefers its simplistic beauty, but if the subtly widened eyes from the patricians stopping in front of his display are any indication, he‘s not alone in being favouring these clothes.

He does not see the plaque showing the current bid on him, but he can tell from the expressions of those looking at it that the number is continually climbing upwards, and it had already been high from the very beginning. His Artist has managed to make a name for himself, allowing for a starting bid higher than some Galatea’s final bid.

By afternoon, Yixing‘s legs are prickling with needles from having remained still for so long, and his shoulders and neck are stiff and hurting. The auction is an excruciating process, and not only due to his bodily aches. He has endured worse, and it‘s not like he‘s completely forbidden from moving. He can shift and turn, and whenever he needs to use the restroom, he even gets to walk a few steps. What eats away at him is the endless boredom, and the stares he‘s unable to escape at any second. Yixing’s expression, however, betrays nothing of his discomfort.

Instead, he is the perfect picture of pleasantness as he sits in his cage and observes the bidders who gold-plate it.


	2. Chapter 2

Yixing’s new Patron is eccentric, but kind. He loves dressing Yixing up, and Yixing graciously accepts every outfit he is given with a smile. A Galateum is always mild-tempered, and of an ethereal elegance, and Yixing lives up to that image with practiced ease.

His Patron shows a rapt fascination with Galatea seems to go way beyond their perfect appearance. Yixing gets summoned into the salon frequently, to sit on one of the plush chaises while his Patron takes a seat next to a small table, a beige manuscript laid out in front of him.

When it first happens, Yixing expects to be drawn. He has heard of Galatea serving as both muse and motive. It is understandable, to wish to draw inspiration from their perfection, no matter how otherworldly they may seem. However, rather than summoning a portraitist to the room or taking kohl to the paper himself, his Patron starts asking him questions.

It starts simple, with small-talk Yixing has been trained in, about the weather and whether he is settling in well in his new quarters. His bedroom is smaller than the one he was given in the auction house, but it‘s attached to a personal study, an expansive washing room, a clothing chamber and a small garden Yixing is allowed to roam. The place is beautiful, and Yixing feels more at ease in it than he expected to. Perhaps he is finally growing used to all the luxury he gets showered with. There is something about the constant admiration and adoration that lightens Yixing‘s step, and makes it easier to forget what he sacrificed for this.  

The further his conversation with his Patron progresses, the more they drift away from the trivialities of every day life. His Patron asks Yixing if he dreams, and when Yixing nods his head, his Patron asks what the significance of dreams is for him. The answer Yixing gives is purposely vague, both since he isn‘t quite sure he understands the question and so he doesn‘t accidentally reveal something a Galateum is not supposed to think. His Patron just nods along as the graphite tip of his pen scratches over the paper he‘s holding on his lap. Then he asks Yixing about what family means to him, and whether he believes in fate. For every response Yixing gives, another scribbled note is added to the words on the paper.

Yixing is wary, at first. Being studied so thoroughly doesn‘t sit entirely right with him. After all, no one may know that Yixing was born a plebeian rather than an ethereal being standing far above them. Yet, there is nothing about his Patron‘s demeanour that indicates doubt about Yixing‘s nature as a Galateum, or his honesty when he gives his answers. His Patron’s questions aren’t probing. They don‘t appear to be aimed at leading him into contradicting himself or to reveal something about himself he‘s purposely hiding. Instead, there‘s genuine curiosity to them, a scientific inquisitiveness of wanting to _understand_.

These kind of sessions become a regular occurrence for Yixing. They happen once a week, always on the same day and at the same time, like a ritual. He will be called into the salon, where his Patron is waiting already, a gentle smile on his lips and his pen poised above a blank page in his notebook.  

It doesn’t even need Yixing seeing the title given to these notes (“Talks with a Galateum”) to know he’s become the object of philosophical studies.

His Patron, Yixing realises, fully believes in Galatea being not human, and that is precisely why he is interrogating Yixing with such pure fascination glinting in his eyes.

\- 艺术 -

Months pass before Yixing finally brings himself to open up his books again.

Settling into his new life happens smoothly, almost too much so. Yixing is given an abundance of luxury and leisure. There really is nothing he could possibly complain about. He is treated like a prized guest, rather than a possession, and he can‘t quite decide what to make of it. In the end, he decides on gratefulness as being the most appropriate response.

And yet. His life is good. But it does not feel like _his_ life. He feels as if he‘s walking around in someone else‘s skin every day, and as if it‘s just a question of time until someone will discover he‘s nothing but an imposter.

The few possessions Yixing brought with him from the Atelier—a handful of books and small trinkets—have been stored away carefully in a small shelf in Yixing‘s study, but ever since Yixing put them there he‘s been pretending they don‘t exist. Perhaps, it was a mistake to bring them in the first place. They are a reminder of Yixing‘s past, of who _Yixing_ used to be, and it might be for the best to leave that past behind, once and for all. Yixing will never be _Yixing_ again, he is a Galateum now and he is part of a patrician‘s artwork collection.

Yet, sentimentality eventually gets the better of him.

It‘s a grey, rainy day, and Yixing just heard the news of Yifan being auctioned off in a few week‘s time. Or rather, he _over_ heard the news, at the afternoon tea his Patron held for a few other patricians. During social events of this kind, Yixing will naturally be present as well, sitting either on a klismos in a well-lit corner of the room or entertaining the guests with recital of poetry or a song. He has loved music ever since he was young, and when he first confessed to having a weakness for chant, his Patron was utterly delighted.

Yixing can‘t help but overhear the chatter while the patricians dine on these occasions, but most of the time it is nothing of interest to him. The mention of his Artist‘s name makes him perk up, however. There were multiple Galatea in the last steps of being crafted when he left, but when the woman who brought up the topic speaks about a Galateum that‘s particularly tall, and supposedly very athletic, Yixing knows exactly who it must be.

Of course Yifan would be auctioned off at some point. It should not come as a surprise to Yixing, less even as a shock. And yet it throws him, but he can‘t let his inner turmoil show. So he smiles, and nods, and is the very picture of perfection until the last guest has left, and his Patron retreats to his quarters. Yixing finds himself in his own study that evening. It‘s sunset, but there‘s no golden light painting everything in luscious shades of orange and red. The sun is unable to pierce through the thick layer of clouds resting in the sky, and so the only indication of nightfall is the slow fading of light.

Without even realising what he‘s doing, Yixing is walking over to the shelf he has not even spared a single glance at for months. He comes to a halt right in front of it, his hand extended but only hovering near the bindings of the books, as if unable to decide which one to pull out—or whether to pull one out at all.

In the end, YIxing simply closes his eyes and reaches for the first book his fingers graze. It turns out to be one of the very first books Yixing ever owned. He has read it so many times that the back is cracked and the pages worn. Somehow, Yixing can‘t help but think that this is very fitting, for him to pick this book out of all the ones standing on the shelf.

He moves towards the couch placed near the window, and sinks into its plush cushions. A wave of nostalgia hits him just by looking at the cover. When he opens it, however, ready to leaf through it mindlessly until a passage catches his eye, something falls out from between the pages. Confused, Yixing puts the book aside in favour of picking up the folded sheet of paper that has landed in his lap. He never stuffs notes into his books. When he unfolds it, his heart comes to a halt for a second before it starts hammering against his ribcage with enough force that it seems ready to break through his chest.

The white page is covered in black, inked letters, too messy to be Yixing‘s own script. Yet, he would recognise that writing anywhere. Knowing full well how obsessed Yixing is with this particular book, Yifan must have expected Yixing to find his letter way faster since he speaks in it as if Yixing has not yet been auctioned off. He tells Yixing how he always admired his strength, his determination and ambition. Even if given a choice, Yixing would still have wanted to become a Galateum, in spite of the sacrifices that come with it. Silently, Yixing thinks to himself that Yifan always was the stronger one between them, refusing to bend no matter what was thrust upon him. Through all the changes, Yifan would hold his head high and he wouldn‘t waver in his belief, not once, firmly holding on to what made him _Yifan_. Something that Yixing never quite managed on his own.

In his letter, Yifan gives Yixing words of comfort, as well as encouragement.

_You will fetch a price the auction house has never seen before, since they‘ve never seen anyone as worthy as you are._

His prediction had not entirely come true. The final bid by his Patron, while high, did only get very close to the auction house‘s record—it did not exceed it. Yet, it definitely is a sum of money that doesn‘t usually get spent on a single Galateum.

_You, Yixing, have always been perfect. Becoming a Galateum has not changed that. You are you, and you will always be you, and every single bit of admiration they direct towards you, is for you. Not for our Artist. For you._

Yifan is not one to lie, not even for the sake of lifting Yixing‘s spirits. And so Yixing can only assume that, for whatever reason, Yifan _truly_ believes those words. They are not, in fact, the truth, and Yixing is well aware of that. There‘s nothing about him that wasn‘t crafted by The Artist, from his physical form to the knowledge he holds, and the way he carries himself. All the attention and praise he garners is not for _him_. Yet, strangely enough, Yixing finds that Yifan‘s words bring him comfort.

Perhaps, even if he himself doesn‘t believe in them, it is enough if Yifan does. Yixing can almost hear Yifan‘s voice, whispering those words to him when he thinks Yixing to be asleep, or at least on the brink of drifting off. It has been so long that Yixing worries he‘s forgetting what Yifan‘s face looks like, but the sound of his voice is still ringing clear in his mind.

With a sudden jerk, Yixing clutches the letter to his chest and stands to rush over to the desk. It‘s an irrational, unexpected urge, but Yixing finds himself sat there, pencils gliding over paper as he sketches Yifan‘s face. He is not quite sure why he never did this before, a few months back perhaps, when the memory of Yifan was a lot clearer than it is now. Although, if Yixing is being entirely honest with himself, he knows the answer. Back then, he had still been strong enough to fight down the urge. Having a sketch of Yifan with him, an evidently emotional trinket, could get him into a lot of trouble if found. It reveals too much of the things Yixing would like to keep hidden even from himself.

But Yixing has been worn thin with longing, and after the mention of Yifan being auctioned off, and finding his letter, Yixing doesn‘t have the power left to resist.

To his own utter surprise, the finished face looking up at him from the paper does bear quite the resemblance with Yifan. Given, the drawing is based on his memories of Yifan, and those are the only thing Yixing can compare the final result against. Perhaps it is to be expected that Yixing thinks the drawing is accurate. Still, when Yixing looks at it, there‘s a tiny fluttering in his heart, just as there would always be when he looked at Yifan in person, so he can‘t be too far off either.

\- 艺术 -

They are to be admired, not to be touched, marred. A Galateum is a pretty thing to be owned and paraded around, not to be tainted by human touch. Even patricians are not allowed to so much as lay a finger on the artwork—at least, not on ones as pricey and exquisite as Yixing is. Yixing has heard tales though, spoken amongst the servants with hushed voices, of how wealthy patricians will acquire cheap Galatea, ones that never reached full perfection but which are still beautiful in ways no human could ever be born with. These Galatea are then required to please their Patrons behind closed doors. They will be embellished with gemstones and gold, and the finest garments money can buy. They will flaunt their Patron‘s favour with pride, and revel in the knowledge just how desired they are.

At least, that‘s what the servants tell each other with thinly veiled disgust. Their judgement reeks of jealousy, although Yixing can‘t quite work out whether they are jealous of the Galatea for their beauty and their Patron‘s attention, or whether they are jealous of the patricians for getting to lay with a Galateum.

Yixing doesn‘t know whether their jealousy is truly justified, in either case. He does believe that some Galatea might indeed be content, happy even, with such a lifestyle. But then he thinks of Yifan, and his heart clenches painfully. Yifan is being crafted by the same Artist as Yixing, who is held in high regards among the patricians, and Yixing knows all too well just how perfect Yifan already was when Yixing left—there is no way he would ever fall into such a fate. No, Yifan will score a price equally as high as Yixing did, and he‘ll be exhibited in just the same way. Just like Yixing, he will be too ethereal to be sullied by the humanly desires of his future Patrons.

That is for certain, and yet an irrational part of Yixing can‘t help but fear, because he knows even once he becomes a full Galateum, Yifan will hold onto his humanity, including all its feelings and desires. Yifan has never cared much for worldly possessions, so no amount of jewellery and clothes could make up for the emotional turmoil he would go through were he pushed into such a situation. He would have no choice—they never had a choice to begin with, not when they were chosen by the Artist. So Yifan would have to endure it, but being intimate due to force would eat away at him, until it would slowly but surely destroy him.

(The alternative, that Yifan would willingly welcome the intimacy with his Patron because he formed a bond with them sits in Yixing‘s stomach like a stone. No matter how much he wills it away, tells himself that would be the good ending, the one where Yifan is happy, the stone remains. Or no, not a stone, it‘s an ember, burning into his insides until there‘s nothing left but ugly, blackened flesh. Perhaps Yixing understands the jealousy he hears in the voices of the servants better than he makes himself believe.)

Yixing scolds himself, for getting so worked up over something that is nothing but a little game of „what if“. None of these options will ever become reality because Yifan will not end up as that kind of Galateum. And still, Yixing keeps getting haunted by the images of Yifan in bed with his Patron.

(And the most traitorous part of Yixing‘s mind whispers „ _You aren‘t bothered by Yifan being in bed with his Patron, you‘re bothered by Yifan being in bed with someone who isn‘t you.“_ )

\- 艺术 -

Nearly a month passes before Yixing finally resolves himself to pen a response to Yifan. There is nothing about the note he received that indicates Yifan was expecting to get a letter in return—possibly since Yifan was still at the Atelier at the time that he wrote it, and it would have been impossible for Yixing to get a letter to him there without raising suspicion. Nonetheless, there‘s a loneliness clawing at Yixing‘s chest, and only the thought of Yifan helps alleviate it. So, he picks up a page of parchment, and the embellished brush he‘d been given, and starts writing.

When he sat down, Yixing worried that he would not know what to say. It turns out to be quite the opposite. The moment the bristles touch the paper to ink the first stroke, it is as if a dam has broken. The sentences flow out of him, one after another in a near endless stream. Writing to Yifan feels as natural as breathing, and perhaps just as vital.

In the end, he runs out of space before he runs out of words. He can only allow himself a couple of pages, or else the letter will be too thick to be hidden within a book.

When Yixing goes to approach his Patron with his request, his stomach knots so badly with nerves that he is certain he will throw up as soon as he opens his mouth. Thankfully, he doesn’t stumble over his tongue when he speaks—as letting his nervousness show would go against his nature as a Galateum. He should not be nervous, never, as he is supposed to be too ethereal to fear anything.

In the hours of the night, Yixing had devised a plan, a justifiable reason as for why he wishes to have a book sent to another Galateum—or at least he hopes that his reason is believable enough. It is not exactly a common request, not at all, as there are not supposed to be friendships between Galatea. However, they do interact with each other respectfully, and in alignment with social norms of politeness. Yifan, Yixing explains to his Patron, gave him a book as a gift, so now courteousness dictates for him to reciprocate the kindness he received.

His Patron, thankfully, accepts Yixing’s wish. He seems downright gleeful about it, even, as if he just made an important new discovery in his studies of Galatea. It does not quite sit right with Yixing, the feeling as if he just revealed more of himself than he should have. But in the weeks to come, his Patron doesn’t comment on it. He hears no talk amongst the servants either, and eventually, the tension eases from his shoulders.

A few days after Yixing’s Patron sent the book to Yifan’s new residence—Yifan had been acquired by a patrician Yixing’s Patron is on good terms with, from what Yixing gathered—there is a small package waiting for Yixing in his study, wrapped in brown paper that looks very familiar.

Not only is Yixing allowed to send another book in response once more, his Patron even instructs the servants to handle all postage Yixing might wish to despatch. He is given free reign, without having to ask his Patron for permission in every single instance. The freedom has in his Patron’s house is remarkable, Yixing can’t help but think.

And just like that, it becomes a regular back and forth of exchanging letters concealed between the pages of books between him and Yifan.

Yifan, Yixing learns, is given an equal amount of freedom, although it seems to stem from disinterest more than it stems from the fond fascination Yixing’s Patron appears to harbour for him. Yifan’s Patron is not cruel, nor is he unkind—he simply doesn’t interact with Yifan outside of the occasions where he gets to show Yifan off to his business partners or friends from an equal social circle. Yifan is staying in the wing where all the other Galatea his Patron has acquired previously reside, but they don’t usually interact much, as they are expected to remain within their own quarters.

Since one of Yifan’s main qualities is his athleticism, he is allowed outside to exercise however. There is a small wood behind the residence, with a small lake hidden in it that Yifan will usually jog around. Yifan promises that if Yixing’s Patron ever should come there for a gathering, and bring Yixing with him, Yifan will find a way to show Yixing to the lake.

_You would love it there, it is beautiful. Peaceful. I can hear birds sing every time I’m there._

It sounds absolutely wonderful, and even though Yixing knows it will never happen since it would be too risky to sneak out together, he allows himself to succumb to the hope of the wishful promise.

Yixing has long since given up on pretending that he is okay with losing the bond he shares with Yifan. Exchanging letters with Yifan becomes his lifeline, whenever Yixing feels suffocated by the gazes that follow his every move whenever he is put on display by his Patron. For a patrician, his Patron is very close with the plebeians, and he will regularly organise events where they get to observe his collection of artworks.

“What good is such beauty if I’m the only one getting to enjoy it? This is a pleasure that has to be shared, especially with those usually not privy to culture.”

As the only Galateum in his Patron’s possession, Yixing always draws the most attention during these exhibitions. It is flattering, incredibly so, to see how the gazes of the plebeians change once they lay eyes on him. They will whisper amongst themselves in awe and proclaim their admiration. Yet, the longer it continues, the more Yixing will find himself worn down. It’s the memory of Yifan’s words, and the drawing of his face safely tucked away in a pocket near his heart, that allows Yixing so smile at the scrutinising crowd when he does not feel like it.

Yixing is resolute to keep it at that, to allow himself the indulgence of Yifan’s friendship but nothing more. And yet.

It’s in a moment of weakness, that Yixing gives in. He does not know what it is that makes him crumble, or if it simply was inevitable from the very beginning. His fight against his own emotions has been futile ever since Yixing can remember.

 _Don’t fight them_ , _they are a part of you. There is nothing wrong with them, they don’t make you imperfect, Yixing. Accept them, and they will make you stronger._

So Yixing selects a book of love poems—and sends it without a note.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not much happens in this part, but I hope it's still worth the read. Final part should go up next Friday or Saturday!


	3. Chapter 3

They sway slowly in accordance to the sound of the piano that‘s drifting in from the next room. Yixing doesn‘t remember all the steps Yifan once taught him, but Yifan doesn‘t comment on it. What they are doing can hardly be called dancing anyway, with how tightly Yixing is enveloped in Yifan‘s embrace. And even though Yixing quite enjoys dancing, he couldn’t care less about it right then. He only wishes to focus on Yifan‘s scent, Yifan‘s warmth, wrapped around him.

In the salon, right behind the closed doors keeping them hidden from the gathered patricians, the soiree is well underway. Wine is flowing freely, pastries are being refilled by the minute as maids and servants bustle up and about between the guests to make sure everyone is attended to and kept happy.

Autumn has laid it’s firm grasp on the estate with brisk winds and pelting rain. Yixing’s patron had been complaining for days about how wistful it makes him, so he had decided to hold a summer themed soiree, wishing to grasp the last tendrils of the sunshine and warmth for just one more night. It took almost a week of people rushing in and out of the house to decorate the pompous hall,  decking it out with fresh flowers and carefully carved sculptures. Everything is bright and colourful, and on any other occasion Yixing would have marvelled at the beauty of it.

But all that doesn‘t matter—nothing else could ever matter to Yixing when he’s with Yifan. It is only the third time they have managed to see each other since Yixing was auctioned off, almost a year ago. Yifan’s Patron is not the most sociable, so the soirees that both their Patrons attend are few and far between, but they do exist. Yixing is especially delighted that this time Yifan came to Yixing’s Patron’s residence, because Yixing knows this building inside out by now, including all the corners that no glances ever pass.

Yifan has never felt particularly comfortable with too much attention and scrutinising gazes observing his every move. And yet, he usually manages to carry himself as if he doesn‘t even notice that there‘s anyone else in the room. To any unknowing eye, he will look perfectly relaxed, but Yixing can always tell the tenseness around his eyes as the nights wear on.

So when he saw the strain the soiree was putting on Yifan, he decided it was time for them to sneak away from the bustling masses for a while. The room he has led Yifan to is an old storage room, long since unused, but close enough to the salon that they can listen in on what’s going on. If there should be any indication that their absence has been noticed, they can slip out to blend into the guests again within seconds. Not that either of them wants to.

The tune comes to an end, but Yixing, unwilling to part, keeps himself pressed close to Yifan. He wonders if there could be any chance for them to just merge into one, so that he‘d never have to be without Yifan again. With bated breath, Yixing waits. When the slow, smooth notes of the piano start up again, he exhales a sigh of relief. Above his head, he is sure he hears Yifan huff a small laugh of amusement. Or perhaps it was an exhale of gladness, reflecting Yixing‘s feelings.

They start moving again, left and right with steps so small their feet barely leave the ground. The song is slower than the last, and Yixing briefly entertains the hope that time could slow down until it comes to a complete standstill. Yixing wouldn‘t mind, being frozen in Yifan‘s arms for eternity.

Not a single word is spoken between them, as there is no need for words. Silence between them has never made it harder for them to understand each other. Yixing can tell, from the way Yifan‘s fingers curl into his body where he is holding Yixing‘s hips. When Yifan noses along Yixing‘s cheek, inhaling his scent, Yixing knows Yifan is committing it all to memory. He knows, because he is doing the same. It will be his lifeline, in the upcoming months of separation until they will be given the next opportunity to find a deserted corner in the labyrinth of rooms Yixing lives in.

„After this song, I‘ll have to leave,“ Yifan whispers, even though the tightening of his embrace says the opposite of his words.

Yixing, not trusting his voice, nods. No matter the state of inebriation and distraction all the guests are in, eventually someone will realise they are not there to entertain. It would mean the end for even those few minutes they get to have together. Galatea are to remain ethereal, free of any and all human desires, including the wish to be with another. They don’t feel any emotions at all: not sadness, not joy, not love. Unlike humans, they are beings who have transcended the fickle nature of emotions. They have been cleansed of all their tainting.

So, Yixing is not allowed to love Yifan.

The last few chords of the piano sound, and Yixing‘s heart slows to a halt together with the notes.

„I will find you again,“ Yifan whispers into the ominous quiet that has settled around them, his voice barely more than a breath of air. “Soon.”

Yixing‘s fingers dig into the flesh of Yifan‘s arms with the desperate wish for Yifan to stay. Yet it is futile to hope since Yixing knows they have no choice, and so he instead closes his eyes and turns his head. His lips brush against Yifan‘s cheek, as soft as the touch of a butterfly‘s wings. He remains there, barely touching Yifan. _Just a few more moments,_ he thinks to himself.

Then, suddenly, there are lips meeting his instead of the warmth of Yifan‘s skin. They are soft and smooth, and just as perfect as everything else about Yifan, about Yixing. But Yixing does not spare one thought for what that means, and instead welcomes the perfection with a desperation he himself could never have predicted. It‘s difficult to comprehend all the sensations rushing through his body, so Yixing doesn’t even try.

There is no frantic clawing to deepen their physical connection, no burning passion threatening to consume them. Instead, their kiss is slow, and gentle, and Yixing’s heart flutters as if it’s either about to break into pieces or is readying itself to jump right out of his chest.

It should be physically impossible to hold Yifan even closer, but somehow Yixing manages to. It’s them, and nothing else matters, for a wonderful few heartbeats. Then, Yifan pulls away, and Yixing instinctively chases after his lips. He manages to connect them again, albeit only briefly. With his eyes still closed, Yixing hovers so close to Yifan’s face that he can feel his breath ghost over his skin.

Another kiss is pressed to the corner of his mouth, before Yifan gently extricates himself from Yixing’s hold. Allowing it is the hardest thing Yixing has had to do in a long time, and it takes his entire willpower to not close the distance between them once more. When he finally opens his eyes again, slowly, to the dimness of the room, he finds Yifan standing not even an arm’s length away from him. Sliding his palms down Yixing’s bare arms, Yifan takes a hold of Yixing’s hands and squeezes them, once. It conveys all the feelings Yixing cannot put into words, and so he merely nods, even as he has to bite his lip to stop it from quivering.

Yixing leaves the room a few minutes after Yifan has slipped out, both to be as inconspicuous as possible, and to compose himself. It is the first kiss they have ever shared, and it has left Yixing’s insides in a turmoil. Nonetheless he goes back to his kline, and smiles as if nothing is amiss when, in reality, he feels as if he cannot breathe without Yifan next to him.

\- 艺术 -

It is a bold plan. Reckless. Stupid, even, one could say. The only way Yixing can justify it is that love makes humans do stupid things—and his human side must have won over when he finds himself in the salon, opposite his Patron. He sits with his hands clasped in his lap, his shoulders squared and his head held high. His entire stance is of an elegance few others can compare to. Nothing betrays the dread that fills his gut at the prospect of the words he’s about to say.

“I was told you wanted to speak to me about a suggestion?”

Swallowing down his nerves, Yixing nods.

“It is about the upcoming exhibition.”

His Patron raises his eyebrows in surprise, but wordlessly prompts Yixing to continue.

“At the soiree last week, I got to talk with Yifan. As you know, we were both crafted by the same artist, but I hear he isn’t being displayed very often since his Patron has little inclination for social events. As you always say, it would be a waste not to share such beauty. Your exhibitions are of such grandeur, showing your generosity to the people who get to witness art thanks to you. Surely, two Galatea would bring twice as much joy to the people? With your influence, any Patron should be honoured to have some of their artwork collection featured in your exhibition. I think that it is a shame that Yifan does not get seen very often, so perhaps you could display him alongside me in the upcoming showing?”

His Patron listens with a thoughtful expression, and Yixing is ready to wave off everything he just said as a silly joke—even though he knows that a Galateum would never joke, especially not in this way, but it might be easier to claim he experimented with the construct of comedy rather than to let his Patron suspect that the reason behind his suggestion is the wish to see Yifan.

What Yixing certainly doesn’t expect is his Patron to start nodding.

“That is an absolutely splendid idea. I will send a letter at once, requesting to borrow Yifan for the time of the exhibition. If I offer appropriate compensation, surely there will be no reason to decline. As you correctly pointed out, it is an honour to be displayed in my collection.”

And just like that, Yixing gets to see Yifan again, not even a month after the soiree. Yifan dislikes being displayed, so Yixing cannot help but feeling guilty. He was being selfish to speak with his Patron without discussing the plan with Yifan first, but Yifan assures Yixing that getting to be with him, even if only for a couple of days at a time, makes it worth it.

The whole process repeats a few times, with Yifan being borrowed for every exhibition Yixing’s Patron holds. Eventually Yixing gets even bolder, and asks his Patron to invite Yifan over, under the pretext of exchanging knowledge.

“Yifan can help me work on my physique. He is an excellent athlete, and with his help I could greatly increase my strength. While I, on the other hand, could assist Yifan with improving his drawing skills.”

With how easily Yixing has been granted every request of his so far, no matter how unreasonable or unfounded, he really doesn’t expect any opposition. But, unlike every other time, his Patron does not immediately agree. Instead, he studies Yixing even closer, the way he always does during their talks, as if Yixing is a mystery his Patron is trying to unravel.

“Do you enjoy it? The company of one of your kind.”

For the first time in a very long while, Yixing is reminded that he is treading of thin ice. “It is not that I do enjoy it, and neither is it that I do not enjoy it.” He says, surprised how easy the lie comes to him. “I have merely observed that we can be beneficial for each other.”

This, at least, is the truth. Yixing fully considers himself to be a better version of himself with Yifan around.

Yixing expects further probing, but somehow he must have given the right answer for his Patron does not ask another question. He simply hums to himself, and scribbles quick sentences into his notebook. He doesn’t even lift his gaze from the pages when he tells Yixing he will arrange for Yifan to come over—or to have Yixing sent over to Yifan’s residence.

\- 艺术 -

Winter has fully claimed the land, and Yixing shivers even beneath the thick woollen sweater, fur-lined coat and leather gloves he has been given for outdoors. Sun rises late and sets early these days, so in the late afternoon, Yixing is already walking in the low twilight of dusk.

There is a string of footsteps in the snow, leading him from the sweeping gardens of the estate into the woods that lie behind it. It is the first time Yixing is stepping into the cover of the branchwood, but he doesn’t slow down. With the lantern held high, he moves as if he has been walking these paths all his life. The snow is a pristine white blanket all around him, untouched except for the imprints he is following. His breath condensates in white clouds in front of him. The cold is biting his face, and yet the only thing Yixing feels is giddy excitement.

“It truly is a breathtaking view. Although I do not hear any birds sing.”

Yifan, not expecting Yixing’s company, spins around from where he has been standing to observe the frozen lake. He is met with the sight of Yixing’s wide smile, and the next thing Yixing knows he is pressed against a firm chest. Without a moment’s hesitation, Yixing lets the lantern drop to the ground so that he can wind his arms around Yifan’s waist. It lands with a soft thud, standing upright and casting a flickering orange light over their faces when they eventually pull away just enough to look at each other.

“What are you doing here?” Yifan asks, expression full of disbelieving wonderment.

“I came to find you,” Yixing replies, a grin on his lips, well aware he is not answering Yifan’s question.

If the lips pressed to his the next moment are any indication, Yifan does not mind his lack of a proper explanation, however. Yixing melts into the kiss, his fingers burying into Yifan’s hair to draw him closer. They are surrounded by complete silence—no one else would be crazy enough to go into the woods, not at this hour, in this weather. So Yixing allows himself to indulge in the warmth spreading through his entire body, thawing away winter’s grip on him. They don’t part for a long while, not until both their faces are flushed not only from the cold.

“I got my Patron to arrange another training session.”

It is the only reason why he would be allowed to travel to Yifan’s residence, so the explanation is rather superfluous. Yixing voices it nonetheless, because Yifan asked, and he adds, “I wanted to surprise you.”

Yifan chuckles. “And surprise me you did. I thought I had to wait another week before I could see you again.”

He bends down to press his forehead against Yixing’s, eyes closed as he inhales deeply. When he continues, his voice is merely a whisper, as if he’s confessing to a secret. “I was sure I’d go crazy without you for so long.”

“Well, I’m glad it doesn’t have to come to that,” Yixing teases, and tilts his head up to steal another kiss.

They are supposed to be exercising, or drawing, but no one ever checks on them, so Yixing sees no urgency in returning to the mansion just yet. Instead, they stay wrapped in each other’s arms, and when their lips are throbbing and their lungs are burning, they link their fingers and begin a slow stroll around the lake. The shivering has stopped completely, even as Yixing takes off one of his gloves to push their clasped hands into Yifan’s pocket.

“It truly is beautiful, though,” Yixing says as he casts his gaze over the frozen scenery lying in front of them.

“It is,” Yifan agrees. “Even more so now that I get to share it with you.”

Yixing smiles up at Yifan as he squeezes his hand to show that he shares the sentiment. He knows that Yifan’s presence by his side makes it all the more peaceful. They seem like an eternity ago, the days when Yixing thought it would be impossible for him to ever witness this scene.

“It’s even prettier in spring,” Yifan says. “You will love it.”

 _Yes,_ Yixing thinks, he will. Because he knows, that come spring, he will still get to walk beside Yifan with their fingers linked. Out here, hidden by nightfall and the undergrowth, Yixing can smile so wide he feels the corners of his mouths ache. He does not concern himself with how it distorts his face, whether his motions are graceful or controlled.

When Yifan does not pay attention for one single moment, Yixing squats down to gather a handful of snow. Yifan‘s flabbergasted expression when he gets hit right in the face by it is everything Yixing was hoping for, and he breaks into loud, hiccuping laughter. He backs away, knowing that Yifan‘s retaliation will follow as soon as Yifan has gathered his bearings. Not even a second later, he‘s darting off towards the treeline, Yifan right on his heels.

Yifan is taller than him, stronger and with better stamina, so Yixing doesn‘t stand a chance from the very beginning. Still, he refuses to surrender just that easily, scooping up snow left and right as he avoids Yifan‘s attacks. Surprisingly enough, agility is on his side, and he manages to dodge snowball after snowball, until finally one smacks against his forehead. Yixing barely feels the impact for how soft the snow has been balled, but there is a wet cold spreading over his entire face immediately. It‘s freezing, yet Yixing only laughs louder and promises revenge.

Yixing feels light, and free.

Alone with Yifan, Yixing can be himself.

\- 艺术 -

They get found in the gardens—Yixing’s gardens—of all places. Yixing knows they should have been more careful, but the year they have spent without ever having anyone get close to uncovering their relationship has made both of them too trusting, and too reckless.

The summer has already come to an end, so Yixing wanted to show Yifan the flowers he‘d been nourishing before they wilted away. For the entire last week, the weather has been cold and unpleasant, but that morning the sun decided to peak out from beneath the grey clouds, gifting them what might be the last warm day of the year. It was the perfect excuse to gather their manuscript and kohl pencils, and move to sit outside at the small garden table. Just, that they didn‘t stay in their respective seats for long. With Yixing in his lap, Yifan did not manage to focus on his drawings very well, too occupied with more gratifying activities.

Ever since Yixing first sat foot into the gardens, he has not seen a single other soul in them unless he actively called for the servants. His quarters are tucked away into a far corner of the mansion, and his Patron has far more luxurious gardens to roam if he should desire to. Nonetheless, they are out in the open, in the middle of the day. Yixing should not have allowed himself to grow complacent. The sense of security he got from the degree of freedom he has been granted has led him to become foolish.

When Yixing hears his Patron’s gasp, he expects to be executed right there and then. If not that, then disfigured and outcast, to live with the plebeians as one of them. Perhaps even as one below them. Their Artist has drilled into them that that is the punishment for imposters. Those who pretend to be Galatea but turn out to be nothing but lowly humans have no right to be part of a society as elite as the patricians.

The Artists will see their secret protected at all cost, and if it means sacrificing those who threaten to uncover it, then that‘s a price they‘re willing to pay. If affairs are handled behind closed doors, the Artist of a Galateum who revealed their true nature may only suffer a blow to their reputation. If not, they might be executed alongside their artwork for pretending to craft Galatea, when in fact they are selling dressed up humans, and betraying the arts by doing so.

Yifan jumps up immediately, and pushes Yixing behind him as if he could hide him from the Patron’s view like that. Of course it is futile. They were caught kissing and no explanation they could possibly come up with would suffice. But Yixing‘s Patron does not call for the servants in outrage, to inform the auction house that he has discovered a fraud.

Instead, his Patron looks at them, and studies the way Yifan has protectively stepped in front of Yixing.

„So you... and him?“

Rather than disgust, or even simply shock and confusion, there is fascination in his Patron‘s eyes. He regards them with an expression Yixing knows all too well, although he _must_ be seeing it wrong. The gaze cast upon them speaks of the intrigue of discovering a new piece to be added to his collection.

„This is truly. Fascinating. Wondrous. I never- This- Who would have thought. So even Galatea- By the heavens, what a sight.“

Yixing does not understand what is going on, but Yifan‘s hands clutched in his grounds him against the fears welling up inside of him like a thundering storm.

“I must say, I suspected, but I told myself, _don’t be stupid, you’re anthropomorphising. A true scientist must only trust the evidence, and not read into signs._ And yet.”

Yixing is not quite sure he can keep up, since his brain is filled with nothing but white noise in his panic.

"So even you, noble creatures, can’t escape the affliction of love. My, what a truly noble emotion love must be, then. To befall you, my dear Galatea.”

\- 艺术 -

Even with all the lavish gifts Yixing has grown accustomed to, he cannot think of a bigger luxury than waking up with his head pillowed on Yifan’s chest. It’s late afternoon when he arouses from his nap, the golden sun spilling through the wide windows and casting its warm light over their bed. Yifan is still asleep, his breathing coming at slow, even intervals. Yixing lifts himself up just enough that he can study Yifan properly. The face he‘s looking at is not the face Yixing was used to growing up, but recently he started noticing all the traces of it that are unaltered. Yifan‘s strong eyebrows remain, his mouth is still small yet plump, and Yixing knows that with more food, the apples of his cheeks would round out the way they did back when they were younger.

It is still the same Yifan he is looking at. And that‘s when Yixing finally understands, why Yifan would never waver in his insistence of Yixing still being Yixing. Because he would never look at the parts of Yixing that changed, he would only see what remained the same. And perhaps that is the true Yixing, after all. Perhaps Yifan has always been seeing the true him, the one that could not be changed no matter what procedure the Artist applied or what training he was put through at the Atelier.

He does not wish to wake Yifan from his slumber for looks so peaceful, but at the same time Yixing cannot control the impulse to kiss him. And so he does just that. He leans up slightly, and softly presses his lips to Yifan‘s. It takes a few moments for Yifan to actually stir, but then he immediately kisses back—sloppily, clearly still half-asleep, but without the slightest hesitance.

Yixing eventually pulls away with a small smile.

„Good afternoon.“

Yifan looks at him sleepily, the fondness etched so clearly in the lines of his face that Yixing‘s stomach lurches slightly. His heart beats faster in his chest, and Yixing wonders if Yifan can feel it with how closely they are pressed together. The fabric of Yixing‘s shirt is thin, on the brink of being sheer, and Yifan‘s clothes aren‘t thick either, so there‘s close to no barrier between them.

„Good afternoon, love,“ Yifan murmurs back, his words slurred.

„Didn‘t you say you were going to stay awake and read?“ Yixing says teasingly, poking Yifan‘s side.

Yifan squirms underneath him, and laughs quietly as he catches Yixing‘s hands in his to stop him. „It’s not my fault! I tried, but you were so warm and snuggly, you just made napping look a lot more attractive than reading a book.“

„Excuses,“ Yixing snorts.

He tries to free his hands but even muddled by sleep, Yifan is still stronger than him. When Yifan wraps his arms around his waist and pulls him back down, positively immobilising him, Yixing reluctantly gives up the struggle. Instead he nuzzles into the crook of Yifan‘s neck, and inhales deeply.

„You smell good,“ he says, as if it‘s something he hasn‘t told Yifan dozens of times before.

It elicits a soft chuckle, and a kiss pressed to the top of his head. „Not as good as you.“

Silence dips between them for a few heartbeats, only broken by their synchronised breathing, then Yixing pipes up again.

„It should be time for dinner soon,“ he notes, less because he is hungry but simply because the thought pops into his head.

 „Dinner might be late today because of the soiree though,“ Yifan responds, without making any move to lean up to check the clock hung on the opposite wall.

Yixing hums lowly in agreement when he recalls the last soiree, where they had only been served their food after all the patricians had dined. It was not that they were only given the leftovers—all their dishes were freshly prepared for them. But this way the patricians that had been invited would have their bellies filled already when they come to observe them, rather than having to envy them their food while they watch them interact with fascination.

Yixing is very capable of suppressing his hunger, especially when Yifan is around to distract him, so having his dinner time pushed back occasionally does not really bother him much. No longer being allowed to walk into the kitchens to ask for food whenever his stomach rumbles was probably the easiest thing to let go of. Not being able to just get up and wander around the mansion freely anymore, that‘s the part that Yixing misses more often than he tends to admit. Before, he would often pass by the gallery of paintings his Patron hung in one wing or he would hide away in his private study if he felt like it. There is no more hiding now. Never again.

It has not even been two full months since he and Yifan were moved into their new quarters and the door was locked shut behind them. They still have multiple rooms available, one with a gigantic bed and elegant dressers, and a study with bookshelves, a desk, plush chaises and sofas. They even have their own dining room, with a table that fits at least eight people. Yixing does not get the meaning behind that one yet, since it‘s only ever been him and Yifan sitting down at it but he reasons that perhaps, one day, his Patron will invite guests over to feast together with the Galatea. It might be reserved for very close friends, or business partners that need to be impressed, to be granted the privilege of being so close to them rather than only getting to observe them from behind the glass panes that are embedded in at least one wall of every single room in their quarters.

From outside, Yixing hears the noises of the soiree wafting into their room. He has already grown so used to them that he barely takes notice of them, and even when he does, he has resolved himself not to care about them—neither the music he no longer gets to participate in, nor the muted chatter of the people passing by the windows in groups, stopping in the corridor to study them. After all, as long as he manages to endure this, he gets to be with Yifan.

And in Yifan‘s arms, Yixing can almost pretend the people aren‘t there.

Almost.

\- 艺术 -

Underneath the display window that spans the entirety of their room, a plaque is affixed to the wall.

On it, there are two dates—the date they were found in the gardens and the date when Yixing‘s Patron acquired Yifan and moved both of them into the newly built quarters. There also is the name written of The Artist who made them both. Below it, there are two words, and a caption.

_The Lovers_

_\- made to be a pair -_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this is it! The original idea for this WIP has been sitting in my notes since 2016, but I suddenly got the urge to fully write it. I don't think the fic does manage to fully do the idea justice, but I still hope it was good enough!  
> Please let me know what you think! And if for whatever reason you want to talk to me, you can find me on twitter, my un is soyifab~

**Author's Note:**

> This whole fic made a lot more sense in my head than it ended up making when I typed it down (this is what happens when I try to sound fancy) but I hope it was still good enough to pique your interest! Next part will be updated this weekend.


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